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Chapter 6

He awoke alone in his kingly bed. Tim's scent still lingered, but it was weak. The squirrel had no doubt left many hours ago.

As if possessed of some extra sixth sense, Werill entered the room some moments later with a tray of apple turnovers and a tea set. "Good morning, Your Lordship. I hear you had quite a night."

"Certainly did." Orrin sat up and yawned. He slipped on a bathrobe that Werill had prepared as he recounted what had befallen him and Tim.

"Looks like we are dealing with someone very well-trained." Werill poured his master a steaming cup of tea and went to stand obediently by the door. "Committing suicide is more difficult than people think. If he didn't plunge that dagger just right, he would have made a mess of it and lived to be interrogated."

"The dagger!" Orrin ran to the closet and dug through the pockets of his breeches. "There it is!" He handed the weapon to his servant.

Werill examined the blade, sliding his forefinger delicately along the edge. "At first sight, this looks like Tilmarii craftsmanship... but it isn't. Whoever made this dagger wanted it to appear entirely Tilmarii. But the Tilmar blacksmiths have a certain way of folding steel that others just can't mimic."

"So, why would someone wear a forged Tilmarii dagger?" Orrin answered his own question. "To make whoever found it believe the bearer to be from Tilmar." He marveled at Werill for his expertise. "Is it really that difficult to acquire an authentic Tilmarii dagger?"

"Quite." Werill placed the blade onto the tea table. "Especially if the people in question have never been to Tilmar. The Tilmarii border is a harsh mountain range, and travel across is next to impossible for most of the winter. If someone needed a Tilmarii dagger right this very minute, they would need to go through quite a good deal of trouble to get it. Much easier to simply forge one, especially since only about one out a hundred weapons experts could tell the difference."

Orrin sipped his tea as a more complete picture formed in his mind. "So, we have someone posing as a Tilmarii spy, an expert in assassination and wearing a scent muter that isn't supposed to exist yet."

"Scent muter?" Werill's characteristic professionalism wavered. "What sort of scent muter?"

"One that removes the scent entirely rather than simply dulling it." Orrin took a bite of the steaming turnover.

"Actually, it does exist." Werill shut the bedroom door and coughed delicately into his paw. "Our chemists have only just developed it some weeks ago. We haven't even given any to our own spies yet." The worry in his features grew more and more apparent. "Excuse me, Your Lordship. It seems I must pay a quick visit to the Usual One. I shall return as quickly as I can." Without waiting for Orrin's permission, he threw open the door and hastily departed.

When Orrin heard pawsteps some moments later, he assumed that Werill had forgotten something. "Listen, I-"

It was Tim's servant. "Sir, Lord Timmin wishes to dine with you. Would you accept?"

"Of course. Let me just take a bath." Thinking of baths and Tim in one go made Orrin cross his legs to hide his growing erection. "Er, tell Tim- er, Lord Timmin, that I will come up to his quarters in about a half hour."

"Very good, sir." Rowann bowed and showed himself out.

Orrin took the brief respite to finish up his breakfast and head down to the water baths. By instinct, he headed to the King's bath, only to be barred by an enormous bear guard. "Sorry, your Excellence, His Majesty is bathing currently."

"Oh, of course. My apologies." Orrin eyed the wicked-looking blade warily. He found an unoccupied bath and removed his nightgown. The warm water soothed his tired body and carried away last night's musk.

"Good morning, Lord Orrin."

The raccoon opened one eye. Count Trivus stood at the foot of the bath smiling. "I couldn't find you in your quarters so I went looking elsewhere. We never did figure out when you wanted to have dinner."

"Ah yes, that's right!" Orrin realized only then that he was sitting naked in a tub and that his erection was very readily visible. He crossed his legs, although that did little to help things. "Let's do it around seven, then."

"Certainly." A very obvious realization dawned upon Trivus. He'd been staring. The fox cleared his throat and looked away. "Err, I will come to your quarters tonight at seven, then."

"I will be waiting." Orrin smiled at the all-too-adorable shyness. "You're welcome to join me now, if you wish."

The offer broke what was left of Trivus's constitution completely. "I- uh- I- I- I- I have to go. I just forgot I have business."

Orrin smelled embarrassment strong over the muted scent of arousal. Trivus was out the door and gone before he could apologize. The raccoon giggled and went about cleaning his fur. When he was finished, Orrin summoned a bath attendant and had his fur brushed.

Werill arrived just as the otter was finishing up. "I brought you an outfit, sir."

Orrin accepted the neatly-folded clothes and enrobed. "I am dining with Lord Timmin today. We may speak after I get back."

"Yes, Your Lordship." Werill helped Orrin into a particularly form-fitting blue waistcoat. "Also, Count Trivus called on you and-"

"I know. He came by." Orrin giggled at the memory. "We are having dinner tonight."

"And we shall talk about that dinner after your lunch with Lord Timmin." Werill winked in the most demure way Orrin had ever seen done. "There are a few details that need to be discussed."

"Very well." It was some sort of spying assignment, Orrin knew. He sighed because there was little else he could do. "Please take my bathrobe back to the room, Werill." He walked off leaving the raccoon behind.

Tim was waiting not-so-patiently in his dining room. He had his plate piled high with food and glanced at it from time to time with hungry eyes. When Orrin finally walked in, the squirrel leapt up and embraced him. "Oh, thank goodness! I was beginning to think I'd have to break an age-old Llyran tradition and start the meal without you. How was the bath?"

Orrin took a seat and held his silence while Rowann poured him a glass of wine and went to stand by the door. "Well, it certainly wasn't quite as interesting as last time." He winked. "Although I did get to see Count Trivus again."

Tim giggled. "And I gather he got to see you as well... all of you?"

"Yes." Orrin blushed. "I even invited him to join, but that seemed to be too much for the poor fox."

"Ooh, a timid one!" Tim clapped his paws together and rubbed them eagerly. "I certainly do enjoy the timid ones." He swigged his wine in a somewhat befittingly unlordly fashion. "I envy you, Lord Orrin. Do go easy on him."

"Yeah, assuming it ever gets to that." Orrin harrumphed. "From the looks of it, it'll be several months of awkward dinner dates and not much else. Maybe he'll let me hold his paw by month number three."

"And if that ends up being the case, you know where to go." Tim winked. "I certainly know I won't mind. In fact-"

The door flew open and Werill ran in. "My Lords, I've something you both need to hear. Is the room secure?"

"Absolutely." Timmin nodded towards Rowann. "Get that door closed and do a quick check, please."

The wolf did as bidden. "Everything is clear, sir."

"Good." Tim offered Werill a seat. "You may speak."

The raccoon accepted the chair gratefully along with a glass of wine. "We have found the source of the scent muter. Whomever it is being delivered to will be meeting our rogue contact at the Sleeping Rock tomorrow afternoon at around three. We need you two to get in there and figure out who this purchaser is. The Powers That Be had planned to simply interrogate the contact, but he may very well have been working with an anonymous source up until now. If we showed our paws too early, we might have spooked them. As such, I will need you two to be extremely delicate. Find out as much as you can and disappear. No confrontations. Remember, keeping your vocation a secret is the biggest priority at this point. If your identity is compromised, neither the Aaryan nor the Tilmarii spy networks will have much use for you here in Llyra."

Timmin put on a roguish smile. "You've got nothing to worry about. Orrin and I will take care of everything."

Try as he might, Orrin failed to see even the smallest twinkle of doubt in the squirrel's eyes. "Tim's right. We'll get it done."

Werill's eyes were a good deal more doubtful, but he didn't voice whatever concerns may have caused those doubts. "Very good. Lord Timmin, please brief Lord Orrin on tonight's plan while you dine." He stood, remembering his station, no doubt. "Do you require anything else, Your Lordship?"

"No, that's it." Orrin sighed and turned his attention to the plate of quiche that sat steaming in front of him.

Timmin did the same. He ate methodically and with little apparent intent of bringing up their first assignment.

Orrin didn't press him. He merely tended to his food and watched the squirrel eat from time to time. Timmin's mastication habits were indeed fascinating to watch. Somehow, the squirrel managed to combine the fine cutlery handling of a noble with the wine swigging of a drunk bar wench.

But the amusement of observation did not last long, and Orrin soon focused his attention entirely on the food.

Tim didn't speak until they'd both eaten their fill. "So..." He wiped his whiskers on a napkin. "How much did Werill tell you, exactly?"

"Hardly anything at all, really." Orrin furrowed his eyebrows and took a sip of wine, trying to remember the conversation. "Just that it would take place during my so-called date with Trivus."

"That's a start, certainly." Timmin reached underneath the table and produced a detailed floorplan of the palace. "Here, we have Trivus's residence." He pointed at a particularly opulent set of chambers. "He only keeps one servant, so getting in and out is easy. Normally, we run the risk of having our favorite fox walk in on a snoop and muck everything up, but not tonight. No, tonight he will be quite occupied." He winked.

Orrin chuckled at the sheer amount of efficiency employed. He'd be passively interrogating Trivus, and his partner would be snooping around the fox's quarters at the same time. "What about the servant?"

"Werill has got that covered." Tim shrugged. "Not sure how. I think the servants are having some sort of small festivity at his urging. Trivus's servant has agreed to attend."

Orrin nodded. "That certainly works out well. What's my part in all of this?"

"Why, keeping him occupied, of course." Tim's foot made its way between Orrin's legs. "And I trust you are more than capable of handling that, Lord Orrin."

"If he lets me." Orrin remembered the overwhelming shyness that consumed Trivus whenever things got too close to sex.

Timmin's eyes met his, devoid of their usual playfulness. "Whatever it takes, Orrin. Remember, this is not a date, it is a mission."

"Yes, yes. Of course." He'd played it off, but the reminder was a much-needed one. Orrin could only hope he didn't forget that very important fact when the time came to remember it.

Rowann served soufflé and a sweet wine for dessert. "Strawberry dandelion, lightly aged. Will either of my lords be taking tea?"

"No." The two spies voiced their reply in unison and turned to the soufflés.

Orrin bit into the spongy cake. "I never understood what people see in these. They look interesting, they're difficult to prepare, but there is absolutely no substance." He tried chewing, but the act of mastication felt strange somehow. "Just feels like I'm eating sweet air."

Timmin chewed his soufflé with a great deal more relish than the raccoon. "Hmm... complicated, pretentious, no real substance - sounds like nearly every noble in this palace to me." He giggled. "Perhaps they feel a kinship."

Those giggles passed quickly to Orrin. "That would certainly explain quite a bit, wouldn't it." The raccoon sipped his wine and relaxed. Their mission wasn't for another few hours, and at that moment, all he wanted to do was enjoy the pleasant warmth, both from the alcohol and the company of a true friend. "Y'know, when I left Vintaa, I thought the days of relaxing with a goblet of wine were behind me. They said life at the palace was always fast. I guess that is not the case. I-" He paused to itch his nose, but it was too late to hold back a loud sneeze. Orrin shut his eyes, bent forward and sneezed twice more. "Excuse me."

Timmin wasn't listening, He ducked underneath the table and pulled the raccoon along. "Those were some incredibly lucky sneezes. Now don't move."

Orrin looked longingly at his spilled wineglass and then back at the harried squirrel. "Tim, is this some sort of new lovemaking game? I can't say, I don't like it, but-"

Timmin shook his head and pointed mutely to the back of Orrin's chair.

A thin feather-tipped dart protruded from the red-velvet cushion. Orrin remembered an adventure book he'd read as a cub. "These are poison-tipped, aren't they?"

"They are." Tim turned his attention towards the window. "Well, whoever it was, at least they didn't hear us." He collected a few bits of broken windowpane from the ornate rug. "Smashed the window and shot straight away. Dead shot, too. If you hadn't sneezed, you wouldn't be breathing right now."

"I think there's an irony in there somewhere." Orrin pulled the dart from its purchase. Other than the fact that it was a poison-tipped dart, he could not discern much. "Better take it to Werill. He might know someone who can tell us more about it."

Tim sighed. "Yes, and inform him that we are now targets for assassination."

"This just makes no sense." Orrin rolled the dart between forefinger and thumb. "Even if this assassin did somehow know we were spies, this entire job... it just sounds awfully sloppy, don't you think?"

Tim's ears perked up. "What do you mean?"

"Well, it just looks more like an act of passion than a calculated kill. I'm certainly far from an expert, but even I know there are far cleaner and quieter ways of killing. It's like they were purposely willing to risk their identity to avenge a death of one of their own."

"Yes, you're certainly right, now that I think about it." Tim tossed the broken glass onto the tabletop. "And still, this could mean more such attempts in the future." He rolled his eyes. "Just what we need."

"Could've been worse, I suppose." Orrin sniggered in an attempt to brighten up the atmosphere. "They could've gotten us."

"Fair point." Tim reached underneath the table and produced a short dagger. "Looks like we'll have to go armed from now on."

"I'll have to finish my sword-fighting lessons first." Orrin emptied his wineglass and turned to leave. "I probably won't see you before the mission, so good luck."

"Oh, you'll be my luck tonight, Orrin." Tim fixed the dagger to his belt. "Just keep your new friend away from the bedroom and his office. Stay in the sitting room or better yet go out and take a nice walk somewhere."

"I'll do my best." Clutching the dart in his left paw, Orrin showed himself out.

He found Werill tidying up in the sitting room. "Hey, could you take a look at this?"

Werill rested the dart in his right palm and squinted at its finer details. "It's a blow dart, very professionally made, Friian design. Hmm... oh yes, and just look at the way it's sharpened. Very remarkable quality." His stupor of fascination broke. "Wait, where did you get this, exactly?"

"Oh, you know, here and there." Orrin shrugged. "Someone tried to shoot me while I was dining with Tim."

Werill wrapped the dart in a napkin and stuffed it into his jacket pocket. "Not unexpected. That rat you and Lord Timmin chased down, I'm sure he had friends."

"So, you don't think they figured out we're spies?" Orrin sighed with relief.

"Doubtful." Werill returned to dusting the mantelpiece as if their conversation were nothing more than mere smalltalk. "If they knew, they would capture and try to interrogate you. Simply killing you off would be a terrible waste of potential intel." He cocked an eyebrow at Orrin's laughter.

"I'm sorry, I just-" Orrin let the last few giggles out. "I never thought there would come a time when I worry more about keeping my identity a secret than I do about being assassinated." With that, the worry came. "Can you have my windows sealed from the inside, please? I don't mind keeping a wary eye out during the day, but I like to feel safe while I sleep." He yawned. "I'd take a nap now, but I can't shake the thought of taking one of those darts to the chest while I rest."

"I will see what I can do, sir." Werill opened Orrin's bedroom door and checked around. "It's all clear for now. And I would be happy to sit in and keep watch while you nap."

"That would be great, actually. Wake me up about an hour before dinner." Orrin stripped off his outfit and climbed into bed nude. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision, and he was glad he'd done it. The silk sheets rubbed gently against his sheath, and arousal came shortly after. "Uhh, Werill..." Orrin grinned sheepishly. "Could you wait outside for a few minutes? I will call you in when I, uhh... finish."

"Of course." Werill remained entirely stoic. "I will wait outside, Your Lordship." He showed himself out and shut the door.

Orrin couldn't and didn't wait much longer. He wrapped both paws around his shaft and slid them tenderly up the length, squeezing as he went along. Libido was a blinding thing, and the raccoon knew he would need to be as clear-thinking as possible over dinner with his unwitting enemy. He closed his eyes and massaged his member tenderly with the pads of his paws. Already, orgasm was near. Orrin suppressed a moan.

He reached out for the jar of oil on his nightstand, but several taps failed to locate it. Orrin opened his eyes. He gasped.

The rat whose death he'd witnessed the day before stood at the foot of his bed, his dagger drawn. "You'll pay for what you've done, scum."

Orrin squinted. The voice just didn't match up. "Wait, you're not-"

"Sefir? No, I'm not. I'm his sister. And you will pay with your life for taking his."

"My servant is right on the other side of that door." Orrin smirked. "You won't get far."

The assassin chuckled mirthlessly. "Don't worry, I locked the door. By the time he gets in, you'll be dead." She reached into her pocket and produced a silver-trimmed blowpipe, but before she could blow into it and pierce Orrin's flesh with a poisoned dart, another dart zipped through the open window and struck her in the neck. The rat let out a gurgling sob and collapsed in a senseless heap on the floor.

Heedless of his state of undress, Orrin jumped out of bed and bent down to examine her. The poison had done its work with frightening speed.

"Assassins of assassins." Orrin shook his head. He pulled the dart from the rat's neck and examined it. "What's-" wrapped neatly around the shaft was a tiny piece of parchment. Orrin unfolded it and read.

My dear Lord Orrin,

I apologize for this attempt made on your and Lord Timmin's lives. We were merely meaning to observe you, but when you accidentally caused the death of one of our operatives, his sister grew mad and decided to act on her own accord. I wanted to assure you that you are not in any danger from us. In fact, keeping you alive is in our best interests, as we may have a job for you. Take a seat on the fourth bar stool from the left in the Weeping Crow at one hour past noon tomorrow, if either you or Lord Timmin are interested in this employment opportunity. And believe you me, you would be a fool to refuse.

The door burst open and Werill ran in wielding a dagger. "Your Lordship! Are you alright?"

"I almost wasn't." Orrin motioned to the corpse on the floor. "My new friend decided to come in and finish her job." He showed his servant the letter. "Fortunately, her employer denounced her actions."

Werill read over the note. "Looks like we were right." He locked the window and drew the curtains. "They have no idea of your true motives. You were merely a lord who was brave enough to pursue one of their spies." He smiled. "And this may just be our chance to infiltrate their ranks. I hope you are up for a bit more spying, Lord Orrin. It looks like you have the chance to become a double agent."

Orrin shrugged. "I haven't got much of another choice, have I?"

"Not really, no." Werill patted his master's shoulder. "We take every opportunity with which we are presented. But there is good news, of course. If you can work quickly enough, you can sabotage their entire operation before much longer."

Orrin clambered back under the covers, intent on getting at least a few winks of sleep before dinner. "What makes you think that?"

"A secret organization would never risk new hires unless they needed them. Their numbers must not be big enough."

"Maybe they were just really impressed by me." Orrin didn't care at that point. All he cared for was a spot of shuteye.

"Your climbing skills are quite remarkable, Your Lordship." Werill chuckled. "But there is much more to being an assassin than that. No, they are definitely on the look out for new operatives and willing to bend the rules for qualifying a bit."

Orrin harrumphed and turned to face away from any more friendly teasing.

Sleep came quickly with Werill around. Orrin wasn't sure what his servant was capable of when it came to armed combat, but Werill was full of surprises and that was enough to placate him.

Werill's paw on his shoulder brought with it some very unpleasant memories, but Orrin quickly recovered. "Dinnertime already?" He calmed his heartbeat, first caused by fear and then, conversely, the sheer surprise of not finding another assassin at the foot of his bed.

"It is, sir. You've got enough time to dress and powder yourself." Werill finished preparing his master's outfit and crossed the room to another door, one Orrin never particularly noticed. "This way to the powder-bath room, Your Lordship."

Orrin rose from bed and followed suit. Midway through the room, he glanced down only to realize he was stark-naked. Werill, it seemed, paid absolutely no attention, so Orrin relaxed and climbed into a shallow copper tub that stood at the center of the small, marble-tiled room. He rolled around in the mint-scented powder until the smell grew too strong.

Werill helped him out of the tub. "Now, I assume you are quite clear on the briefing Lord Timmin has given you."

"I think so." Orrin sat down on the bench and let the servant brush him and then neatly comb his fur. "Just keep an eye on Trivus and keep him away from the bedroom."

"Correct." Werill finished up the brushing and put the implements away into a wooden cupboard that hung on the far wall. "If you stay in the dining room, you should be fine."

A knock on the door and a timid "Hello?" announced Count Trivus's arrival.

Orrin made a dash for his bed. "Answer that, please." He pulled on his undershorts, breeches, shirt and waistcoat. "Hm, blue again." He swore he'd wear yellow next time.

***

Trivus waited patiently in the sitting room. When the fox saw Orrin enter, he froze up. "Oh, uhh- uhm. Hello there."

"Good evening, Count." Orrin struggled to hold back the giggles. If Trivus was as smitten as he appeared, controlling his every move would be all too easy. "Shall we adjourn to your quarters?"

"Er, yes. Let's." Trivus stood. He gave Orrin a twitchy attempt at a smile and led the way down the hallway.

Orrin followed the fox up the stairs. As they went down the corridor, he counted the doors on each of the rooms. "Hmm, what an interesting coincidence."

Trivus turned with his paw on the doorknob. "What is?"

"Your room appears to be exactly above mine." Orrin smiled. That would certainly make Timmin's job quite a bit easier.

Trivus shrugged. "Yes, I suppose it is." He unlocked the door and held it open. "After you, Lord Orrin."

The time had come to put on the charm. As much as Orrin pitied the poor fox, leading him on was the safest way to keep him out of the way. "Oh, these titles are so formal. Just Orrin will do. Truly."

"Ah, yes. V-very well." Trivus tittered nervously and grinned. "You ma-you may call me Trivus. Shall we?"

Orrin stepped through into a gorgeously-decorated room. The walls were painted a lovely dark blue and everything in sight matched that shade and bore a golden trim. "Oh, this place looks amazing!"

"Yes, His Majesty had it decorated for my arrival." He crossed the room briskly and knocked on the nearest of the two doors. "Tarris, are you in there?"

"Yes, sir." The door opened and a middle-aged hare emerged. He bowed to Orrin. "My Lord."

Trivus patted the servant on the shoulder. "Once dinner is served, you are free for the night. Enjoy your festivities."

"Thank you, Your Excellence." Tarris bowed, his ears coming within a hairsbreadth of Trivus's muzzle. "I shall serve dinner right away." He padded noiselessly across the polished hardwood floor and disappeared into the hallway.

Trivus meanwhile hurried to the table and pulled a chair for Orrin. "Please, sit. Would you like some wine?"

Orrin took a seat. "Yes, wine would be great, thank you." He held his glass steady while Trivus poured the wine with tottering paws.

Moments after he finished, the front door opened and Tarris marched in followed by two helpers each bearing silver trays laden with steaming, freshly-prepared food. The hare bowed. "Chicken Cordon Bleu and vegetable quiche. Enjoy."

The two mice served out the food and poured Trivus a glass of wine. They worked in near-perfect unison and with an interesting grace that Orrin found quite engaging to watch. When both diners were served, the two helpers bowed and departed.

"Have a pleasant night, sirs." Tarris bowed even lower than the mice had and followed them out.

Orrin sat and sipped his wine smiling pleasantly, but not for long. He peeked briefly behind Trivus and saw Timmin.

The squirrel hung deftly from the windowsill. He met Orrin's eyes and made the gesture of opening a door with his paws.

Unsure of what the squirrel was trying to communicate, Orrin furrowed his eyebrows.

"Is something the matter, Orrin?" Trivus tilted his head quizzically. "Is it the wine?"

Orrin looked away from the window. "No, no. The wine is great. I was just thinking, that's all." In a trice, he grew as uncomfortable as his dinner companion, but for a very different reason.

Behind Trivus, Timmin gave charades another try. He pointed towards the fox's bedroom and then placed his paw on the window and made a show of pushing it. Then, he shook his head.

Orrin understood at once. Whatever lock Trivus's bedroom window bore, it was too complex to pick. He stood. "It's a bit stuffy in here. Would you mind if I opened the window?"

"Not at all." Trivus flew out of his seat. "Let me do it for you."

Fortunately, Orrin beat him to it. "That's quite alright." He pushed down the latch and pulled the window open.

Timmin hung gamely just underneath the windowsill. He spoke in a whisper scarcely audible over the wind. "Go to the other room and stall. I'll climb in and hide."

"Oh, that's much better." Orrin nodded demurely. "Sorry, is there a privy I can use?"

"Of course." Trivus pointed towards a door at the other end of the room. "There is one right through my bedroom."

"Ah, very good. Thank you." Orrin sighed with relief and headed in that direction.

To his dismay, Trivus followed. "Let me show you the way."

"That is very kind of you." Orrin made no attempts to dissuade the fox. Trivus may have been shy and awkward, but he was certainly smart enough to not let someone he barely knew wander freely around his quarters.

He let Trivus walk ahead and took a cautious peek over his shoulder.

Tim was already in the room. He pointed towards the privy.

Orrin sighed. The only way to keep Trivus occupied and oblivious was to somehow get him into the garderobe. He racked his brain thoroughly but only came up with a single option.

As Trivus reached the door and opened it, Orrin wrapped his arms around the fox and pulled him into a passionate kiss.

Trivus's bright green eyes sprung open in surprise, but they didn't stay open long. The fox moaned, shut his eyes and embraced Orrin. His embrace tightened, and the raccoon felt every ounce of passion that coursed through his companion.

His brush with death had made him forget all about relieving himself in time for dinner, and the libido he was hoping to avoid hit full force.

With each new conquest came a fresh excitement. The fox's likes and dislikes were entirely unknown. How he would handle himself was a thrilling question that Orrin salivated to answer.

The raccoon's loins burned with excitement when the quiet, mild-mannered, stuttering Trivus pushed him back against the bed and held him down as he explored Orrin's neck and chest with his tongue. Orrin allowed himself to be dominated, instinctively sensing the fox's stronger presence.

Trivus slid his fingers beneath the waistband of the raccoon's undershorts and slid them impatiently down. "Oh my." His gaze fell upon the throbbing shaft, and the fox took no time to fit the entire member into his muzzle.

Orrin gasped as the fox's teeth grazed the sensitive skin in all of the right ways, sending sparks of pleasure through his spine. He arched his back and pushed his hips upwards with a stifled moan. As Trivus's head rose and fell, riding the shaft, all Orrin could think of was having the fox inside of him. But a sobering sight met his eyes when the raccoon looked up.

Tim snuck on tip-paw, sticking to the wall and carefully avoiding the fox's line of sight. He looked at Orrin and pointed towards the closet on the other side of the room.

Orrin understood.

As Trivus made to rise, the raccoon pushed his head down with a moan. "Oh, don't stop." His member had become sensitive enough to orgasm at the lightest touch, but the raccoon held on, knowing his friend's life was at stake.

Trivus obliged happily. He grasped the base of the long shaft and licked up and down its length with a passionate fervor.

Orrin held his breath, trying to stall climax as he watched Tim make it over to the closet. The squirrel inched open the door and disappeared behind it.

Safe, Orrin pulled the fox away from his member, and beckoned him in for another kiss. His muzzle met Trivus's, and the two lovers shared a long and passionate moment together, their tongues meeting and caressing one another.

But as Trivus rubbed his swelling shaft against the raccoon's own, Orrin felt the fox's powerful hunger for more. "Have we got any oil?"

"Of course!" With the permission given, Trivus raced for his dresser. He found a flask of oil buried amongst the clothes and ran back to bed. Already, his member was at full staff and leaking with giddy anticipation of what was to come. He pinned Orrin down once more, this time biting gently down on the raccoon's neck, his teeth grazing the fur and the blushing skin beneath it.

Thinking like a spy was growing harder and harder, as the fox's passion consumed Orrin. For his last act of conscious reasoning, the raccoon positioned himself in such a way that Triv would make love facing well away from the closet or its present occupant.

He rested his head on the pillows and allowed the fox to push first one well-oiled finger and then two underneath his tail. Unused to bottoming, Orrin flinched as his pucker widened. But the overwhelming smell of arousal and the fox's presence soon intoxicated the raccoon into a state where desire was all that remained. "I'm ready."

Trivus nodded and clambered into position, pushing the raccoon's legs up against his chest. He guided his member towards Orrin's pucker with one paw.

A loud moan escaped Orrin's parted muzzle, as the stretching sensation overwhelmed him. The raccoon wrapped his paws around the length of his member and stroked vigorously.

Together, the two lovers bucked and moaned with each of Trivus's thrusts. The fox pushed his shaft in to the knot, growing more and more forceful until he finally succeeded in tying.

Orrin gasped as the fox's knot forced its way through his pucker and the circular muscle tightened up on the other side. The stretching combined with the warmth of the seed that spurted in throbs from the shaft's tip finally sent the raccoon over the edge. Orrin stroked himself faster and faster, milking the last drops of the creamy fluid from his member.

Exhausted, Trivus collapsed atop the raccoon. "That was incredible." He licked droplets of seed from his bedmate's chest. "Thank you."

"It was my pleasure." Orrin wiggled his rump playfully as the thick knot inside him slowly shrank. From the corner of his eye, he saw Timmin padding noiselessly towards the door. The musk of arousal was so strong that Orrin wasn't even sure if the squirrel was wearing any sort of scent muter.

Tim smiled and gave him a thumbs aloft before disappearing in the doorway.

Orrin kissed Trivus gently on the nose. "Now, how about that dinner?"

"Oh, yes, yes of course. Let me just-" Trivus pulled back his hips and slowly withdrew his wilting member. Before the shaft could hide entirely in its sheath, the fox wiped it on a soft cotton towel. He then did the same with Orrin's maleness, careful not to squeeze the sensitive organ too hard. "So-" His gorgeous green eyes met Orrin's blue. "What made you do that?"

Orrin shrugged. "Well, I sensed that you really liked me, and there was all this tension building up. This was the only way I could think to resolve it." To his surprise, the answer was entirely true - it wasn't the whole truth, but the raccoon grinned wider at not having to lie. This earned him another kiss.

"Thank you." Trivus rested his head in the crook of Orrin's neck and inhaled deeply. "You've made me incredibly happy. I can only hope this means you want a relationship." The stammering returned. "Although, if you- if you just wanted this one time, that's completely alright."

"No, I..." Orrin met the fox's deep and honest eyes. "I was hoping this could become something more." Again, he placated his conscience by arguing that this was not a lie.

"I cannot say this enough, Orrin: you've made me incredibly happy." Trivus kissed the raccoon's nose and rolled out of bed. "Let's go eat, and uh-" He looked away. "-if you'd like to spend the night, I- I mean, I'm not-"

Orrin stood and snaked his arms around the fox's waist from behind. "I'd love to." Trivus's was a warm and comforting scent. And he certainly felt a good deal safer sleeping with someone else in the room.

At that, the fox smiled even broader. He put on his undershorts. "Should we dress fully or not even bother?"

Orrin sauntered over and slid his paw down the fox's muscular stomach and underneath the waistband. "No, I think I'd rather enjoy the pleasant view while I eat. And I'm sure you wouldn't mind much either." He shrugged. "In fact, I might not wear anything at all. Your servant is gone for the night; the door's locked."

"Yes, that certainly sounds fantastic." Trivus smiled modestly, but his erection was much less shy at reacting to the happy news.

The two lovers adjourned to the dining room and resumed their meal.

With the tension broken, Trivus grew markedly more lively and animated. He chatted about his peerage and his arrival to Llyra without the slightest stutter or hint of discomfort. There was one topic, however, he never touched on - his vocation.

Orrin did his best to casually steer the conversation in that direction, but the fox never caught the bait.

Soon, the last of the succulent chicken vanished off the plates, and the conversation wound down to a quiet close.

Trivus yawned. "If you would excuse me, I think I will retire for the night. This has been a rather eventful day. Feel free to stay up if you wish. Help yourself to any books or whatever else you would like to entertain yourself with."

"No, it's quite alright." Orrin rose from his seat. "I might as well go to sleep too. Today may have been quiet, but tomorrow promises to be quite busy." Two jobs in one day, and spaced so tightly together, was more than busy, but the raccoon left it at that.

He and Trivus adjourned to the fox's bedroom, where Trivus quickly fell asleep with both arms wrapped snugly around his new bedmate.

***

Orrin lay awake for some time in the fox's gentle embrace, thinking. Trivus, despite being some form of master spy hunter, was incredibly trusting and naïve. He gave Orrin every ounce of his warmth and kindness, and the raccoon twinged guiltily at each thought of lying to someone whose growing love was so palpable and pure.

But Orrin reminded himself for the umpteenth time of the job that lay ahead. The lies and deceit would become second nature to him, as they did to all spies. It was only a matter of time, he didn't know how much. With a heavy sigh, the raccoon shut his eyes and willed himself into an uneasy sleep.

Orrin awoke several times during the night. Each time, it took the raccoon a few brief moments to realize where he was and that the stranger embracing him was a friend. He did so six times before finally giving up on a restless sleep. "At least the sun's up." Orrin slipped out from Trivus's embrace and found his clothes scattered about on the floor. He dressed quietly and gave the fox's muzzle one last gentle kiss.

Trivus opened his eyes and flashed the raccoon a groggy but very sincere smile. "Good morning. You're certainly up early."

"Lots to do." Orrin licked the fox's nose. "But maybe we can have dinner again tonight." He'd feel even guiltier at dinner, and guiltier still when he fell asleep in the fox's arms, but that's what needed to be done. Orrin put on a smile, wishing all the while that it could even be half as sincere as the fox's. "It'll be a late dinner, though."

"Doesn't matter to me." Trivus took the raccoon's paw and squeezed it. "I will wait up for you, even if we have to dine at the stroke of midnight."

Orrin returned the squeeze, although half-heartedly. "It won't be that long, hopefully." In truth, he simply wasn't sure. "Now go back to sleep. Just because I have to be up, doesn't mean you do too."

Trivus spoke through a long yawn. "Fair enough. Good night."

"Good night." Orrin padded silently from the room. He traversed the palace encountering only a few servants on the way. They gave the lord startled bows and returned to their work. No self-respecting noble should be up at such an early hour.

Orrin stopped by the entrance to the second-floor hallway. Deciding between breakfast and bed was a tough call, but his stomach refused to be silenced. It groaned and grumbled until the raccoon turned back and descended the Grand Staircase to the dining room.

Again, he saw not a soul of rank there - only servants tidying up the tables and polishing the floors.

A primly dressed marmot ran up and made an elegant leg. "My Lord. Trouble sleeping?"

"Yes." Orrin held back a yawn. "A spot of breakfast wouldn't be too much trouble, would it?"

"Of course not." The marmot showed him a nearby seat. "Please wait here. Do poached quail eggs with bacon and tomatoes sound like something My Lord would enjoy?"

"That sounds delightful, yes." Orrin smiled. "And tea."

"Of course." The marmot jotted everything down with a charcoal stick in a tiny notebook and hurried towards the kitchen.

"Ah, looks like I'm not the only morning person in the palace after all." Tim pulled up a chair and sat next to his friend. "So, how was last night?" He'd asked the question with such a mischievous grin that Orrin knew there was no room for lies.

"Not much to say." The raccoon shrugged. "We had some dinner, had some fun, finished our dinner and went to sleep. It's your story I'm far more interested in, of course."

"Well..." Tim grabbed a passing servant by the coat-tails. "I'll have a tomato omelet, please, and your blackest tea."

The mouse wiped his paws on a napkin and bowed. "Yes sir. Right away."

When he'd departed, Timmin resumed his story. "Without getting into the specifics, I got in and out just fine thanks to you. There wasn't much to be found, but I did jot down a few things. I'll show them to you later." He fell silent again as the marmot from before brought and served Orrin's food.

"Would you like anything, Lord Timmin?"

Tim waved him off. "No, no. All taken care of. Thank you."

"As you wish." The marmot bowed and returned to his duties.

Orrin forked some eggs and took a bite, chewing thoroughly and savoring the delicate texture. "Oh, these taste heavenly. Never had quail eggs before." A passing mouse reminded the raccoon of a certain visitor from the night before. "Did Werill tell you about a singular someone who decided to pop by my bedroom yesterday?"

"He did, yes." Timmin checked the time on a large ornate clock that hung high on the far wall. "In fact, we shall pay the Weeping Crow a visit around noon. This seems like a fantastic opportunity."

"Alright. What about our other assignment?" Orrin glanced briefly at a nearby servant who looked all too uninterested at what the raccoon had to say. "Wouldn't you think it risky, since they appear to know who they are?"

"Correct." Tim had noticed the weasel as well. "Someone else will take care of that. We are to concentrate on the other one instead. I-" The weasel had drawn too close, definitely within earshot. Tim changed topics on the fly. "-think I ought to have had the quail eggs as well, they smell great, and I'm not particularly keen on meat, either."

The mouse who'd taken his food order appeared behind them and placed a silver tray gingerly onto the table. "If My Lord would like, I would be happy to fetch some quail eggs."

"No, no. That's quite alright." Timmin allowed himself to be served. "I was merely thinking aloud. This omelet will do splendidly!"

"As you wish, sir." The mouse smiled with evident relief and poured the squirrel his tea before excusing himself with an elaborate bow.

Tim busied himself with the food and fell silent.

Orrin waited for a while with his empty plate, but boredom soon crept in. "I'm going to go take my fencing lesson."

"Mhmm." Tim swallowed his food and took a sip of tea. "Sure. Meet me around noon at the palace gates, and we can take a walk down to the Crow."

"See you then." Orrin left the plate behind and returned to his room. He found Werill tidying up the sitting room.

The servant finished dusting Orrin's desk and bowed. "Good morning, Your Lordship. How did you sleep?"

"Well." Orrin wasn't sure how transparent the lie was; he didn't care.

Werill nodded. "Last night's mission was a success, but as Lord Timmin has probably informed you, we have decided to put someone else on the scent muter job - both because these people might recognize you and because I am sure you two will be more than occupied with your soon-to-be employers."

"Yes, we are going to go meet them at noon." Orrin crossed to his bedroom and picked out a fencing outfit. "Anything else I need to know about that job?"

"Just agree to anything they propose." Werill helped his master tie the points of his pants to the doublet. "Once you have the assignment, report back here, and we will figure out what to make of it."

Orrin buttoned up his collar and gave the wall-mounted mirror a quick look. "What if they want us to start right away?"

"Make some excuse to come back here." Werill folded the other outfit and placed it neatly in its place on the shelf. "Enjoy your fencing lesson."

Chapter 7

Strangely enough, he did. Orrin expected to be exhausted by the end, like last time, but the two hours passed by in a blink, filling his body with a pleasant buzz of excited energy. The raccoon placed his sword back onto the rack, thanked the sword master and headed straight for the water baths.

"Ah, I thought I'd catch you here!" Tim splashed some water in his friend's direction as Orrin walked over. "Come join me."

Hesitantly, Orrin stripped out of his fencing outfit and lowered himself into the pool. "Ah, nothing like a good bath."

"Indeed." Tim drew closer. "And there's a certain other bath-related activity that we never got to partake in." His stubby member emerged slowly from its sheath.

Orrin drew back. "Actually, I- I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why not?" A hurt surprise fell over Timmin's features.

Orrin sighed. "I want to, I really do. But if Trivus sees us, I'll lose any hope at further contact. Let's stick to enjoying each other in private, shall we?" The reasoning was sound, but was it the truth? All Orrin knew with bold certainty was the overwhelming fear and reluctance that flooded his body when Tim drew near.

The squirrel nodded, his guarded demeanor relaxing. "Yes, you're right. Business first. Can't ruin a chance like that." He patted Orrin affectionately on the shoulder. "I am proud of you. You've finally become focused on the things that matter."

"Yes." Orrin picked up a lavender-scented soapstone from a rush basket at the edge of the pool. "And right now, what matters is getting clean and hurrying to the Weeping Crow to see what our new employers have got in store for us." He soaped up his fur, being careful to get even the hard to reach spots. Cleanliness was always a high priority on his list.

Tim picked up another soapstone. "Here, let me get your back."

"Thanks." Orrin knew well that this was nothing but an excuse at some bodily contact, but he let the squirrel do it anyway. Even if Trivus did find them, they really weren't doing anything terribly wrong or sexual. His member had other thoughts, of course. The raccoon sighed and did his best to think of non-arousing things in the mean time, for all the good it did him.

Once Tim had finished washing his friend's back, he put down the soap and took the moment to grope the raccoon's supple rear. He smiled sheepishly at Orrin's startled gasp. "Sorry, but you know me. I can't help myself. It's an affliction, truly."

"Don't worry about it." Orrin glanced around briefly and gave the squirrel's sheath a teasing squeeze. "Not like I don't enjoy it." He picked up a bar of soap, circling around to stand behind Tim. "Come on, let me do your back now."

"I'd be insulted if you didn't." Tim bent over and allowed himself to be soaped down and carefully scrubbed. He'd grown fully aroused by that point.

Orrin finished scrubbing and then rinsed the squirrel's fur from a bronze bucket that stood at the edge of the pool. "Alright, time to head out."

"You go ahead." Tim waved him off. "I have a few things to take care of." He shot a glance down at his throbbing member.

"Ah, right." Orrin giggled. "Alright, hurry up. Business first, remember?" He climbed out of the pool and found a nearby servant to dry and brush him.

Again, as if bearing some sort of sixth sense, Werill arrived in the nick of time carrying a fresh outfit and a rapier. "Here you are, Your Lordship. The weapon is merely a precaution. You never know what sorts of people you will be dealing with."

"Thank you." Orrin allowed the servant to help dress him. "Where did you get the rapier, anyway?"

"It was your father's, sir." Werill threaded the elaborately-decorated scabbard into a leather belt and buckled it around his master's waist. "In fact, he has quite a few pieces in his armory. I would be happy to show them to you once you return tonight."

"That would be wonderful, thank you." Orrin drew the blade partway, admiring the fine craftsmanship and the strong forte.

Tim joined him on the bench, still stark naked and soaking wet. "The bath attendant is off counting flies somewhere. I swear, if I have to sit around dripping like this much longer, he won't hear the end of it."

Werill offered the squirrel a towel. "I would be happy to dry and brush you, sir."

"That would be fantastic, actually!" Tim beamed. "I hate being wet."

Orrin nudged his friend playfully. "So, why do you bathe so frequently?"

Tim shrugged. "Well, it's a conundrum, really. I hate being wet, but I hate being dirty and musky even more. So I force myself to ignore the wetness while I bathe because that's the only way I'll truly be clean." He sighed. "It's complicated."

"Yes, incredibly so." Orrin stood. "Alright, I'll wait for you outside. Don't take too long." He checked himself in a nearby mirror and walked out into the hallway. The moist heat from the baths followed him out but soon dissipated. The raccoon stood around looking nowhere in particular, his paw resting idly on the hilt of his rapier.

"Hey Orrin!" Trivus waved cheerily as he approached. "You decided to take a bath too, eh? Great minds think alike, I guess. I wish I'd gone earlier, I-" He stammered. "I-I-would have liked to uhm... you know... bathe together."

Orrin surprised even himself when he wrapped the fox in a warm hug and kissed him on the muzzle. "I'd like that too. Tomorrow, maybe."

Trivus recovered from the surprise kiss, although his heart still thumped like a wardrum against his chest. "I very much look forward to it. And tonight... Uhm... would you like to sleep over again?"

Orrin had thought that their intimate encounter from the night before would mellow the fox out, but the effect, it seemed, had only been temporary. Trivus was entirely back to his nervous and awkward self. The raccoon tightened his embrace, listening to the fox's strong and startled heartbeat. "Of course! I don't know if I will be back by dinner, but if I am, we can eat together too."

"Yes, absolutely!" Trivus sighed with relief. "Where are you headed today?"

Orrin parted the embrace slowly. "Oh, just some business. Helping out a friend of mine." He watched the bath door inch open. Tim's familiar scent drifted out. "And there he is, actually."

Tim smiled and approached them. "Yes I am. I don't believe we've been properly introduced." He extended a paw. "I'm Lord Timmin, but you should probably call me Tim because I hate titles."

"It's a pleasure!" Trivus shook paws with the squirrel, his happy smile unwavering. "Maybe we can all have dinner together tonight, the three of us."

Tim nodded. "Well, I've certainly got nothing important planned, so I would be happy to. But for now, Lord Orrin and I have business to attend to. Won't you excuse us."

"Certainly." Trivus gave Orrin's shoulder a gentle squeeze and headed for the baths. "Enjoy your day."

"You too." Tim waited for the door to shut and then led the way into the city.

Chapter 8

When they were far enough away from the palace, he sighed blissfully. "Oh, you have no idea how much I envy you, Orrin. He must just be unbelievable in bed."

"He is, yes." Orrin recalled briefly their incredible night together. To all who would venture a guess, Trivus appeared inexperienced and naïve, but that fox had the sexual drive far beyond his appearance.

It took several snaps of the thumb and forefinger for Tim to get his friend's attention. "If he causes you to daydream like this, I'll take you at your word."

Their destination lay planted firmly within the merchant district of the city. It was one of those entirely nondescript establishments that bore its visitors absolutely no prejudices, being far too shabby to be upright, far too clean to be a cutthroat den, far too large to be a gambler's haul and far too small to be a banqueting hall. It was the sort of place one visited and forgot about - perfect for spies.

Orrin held open the door and walked in behind Tim. None of the pub's sparse array of patrons paid them any mind, and the fourth stool from the left stood conspicuously empty.

Tim gave his friend a hopeful look. "Wanna do it?"

"Sure." Orrin crossed the sawdust-covered floor to the bar counter and sat, swishing the wood shavings back and forth with his tail.

"Orrin, is that you? Oh, hello there, my friend!" A weasel seated atop the stool next to him turned and embraced Orrin with his stubby arms. He dropped his voice to a faint and ghostly hiss. "Play along."

"Uh, how goes it?" Orrin patted the weasel cautiously on the back in a half-hearted hug.

"Very well, very well. Life moves at a curious pace." The cove swiped up his tankard of ale. "Let's go to a private dining room, eh? Too much din here. Tim can come too. We've lots to catch up on!" Before either Orrin or Tim could reply, he hopped off the stool and padded towards a narrow corridor on the far side of the room, whistling merrily all the while.

The raccoon turned towards his friend with a shrug. "Lots to catch up on." Backing out was an option but a poor one. Orrin slid off the bar stool and followed the stranger. He walked cautiously down the poorly-lit corridor keeping a paw on the hilt of his rapier.

The last door on the left swung quietly ajar, and the weasel's head peeked out. "Inside, hurry."

Orrin turned back to make sure Tim was following. Once the squirrel had caught up, they entered the dining room together.

The place was sparsely furnished, with little more than a broad wooden table and a set of twelve chairs. Their conversant sat at the head swigging his ale and watching them keenly with a pair of strange violet eyes over the brim of his mug. "Good afternoon, gents."

"Alright, so what's this all about?" Orrin pulled up a chair and sat across from him.

The weasel set his ale onto the tabletop. "Not a clue. Well, the instructions were clear enough - I was to wait here 'til a squirrel and 'coon walked in and one of them sat down on that stool. Whoever it was 't hired me said you two would be ripe for a job."

Tim sat next to Orrin. "So wait, you're not the author of this?" He produced the crumpled note.

The weasel surveyed the scrap of parchment with a brief glance. "No. But I got a similar treatment. It seems we are to work together." He extended an unkempt, brown-furred paw. "I'm Dill."

Tim shook paws with him. "It looks like you already know our names, so there's no need for those introductions. What's the job?"

"We need to get into the palace." Dill cleared his throat. "Well, you two need to get into the palace. I was merely hired to provide the tools. I'm one of your friendly guildmember thieves, see?"

"Get into the palace? But w-" Orrin stopped just short of revealing his title. If Dill was only another anonymous hire, he might not have been privy to that bit of info. "Wait, that's it? Just get into the palace? That's a pretty simple task."

"Oh, a bit more than just get in, I should say." Dill tossed a leather satchel onto the tabletop. It wasn't much bigger than the tankard of ale it landed next to. The weasel undid the clasps and helped himself to one of the several dozen thin bronze cylinders that lay within. Each was identical in size to the next and several times longer than the stalk of a latch-key.

Orrin picked one up and rolled it between his fingers. "Lock picks?"

"Not quite." Dill snatched the curious object from the raccoon's paw. "This is what we in the trade call a 'Jammer.' Now, pay attention." He hopped to his feet and padded to the window. "No bars here, but it'll do for a quick demonstration. Each of the rooms in the Royal Chambers has bars across its window. But for the purposes of maintaining aesthetics, these bars are made to open and swing out of the way. A servant comes each morning to open them and each night to lock them back up." He slammed shut a set of imaginary bars across the pub window and pointed to the left side of the wooden window frame. "All you need to do is slip one of these beauties into the locking mechanism. The servant will think everything is securely locked for the night, until..." He produced a lock pick and made a show of inserting its tip into the Jammer. "One quick tickle from this betty, and the lock springs wide open."

"Fair enough." Tim helped himself to a Jammer from the satchel and pocketed it. "So, which window are we jamming?"

"The one in the room directly next to the Lord Secretary's study." Dill collected his satchel and returned it to his trouser pocket. "That is all this job entails. Do this, and you will be rewarded."

Orrin's mind yearned to ask many more questions, but the raccoon remembered his servant's orders. "Alright, we'll do it." He extended a paw towards Dill. "That payment had better be good."

"It will be, don't you worry." Dill shook the raccoon's paw and finished his ale in one big swig. He belched. "Do this before midnight tonight and no later, savvy?"

He stood and departed without another word, leaving the two spies behind in the dining room.

A wolf waiter swept in several moments later, his ancient frock falling apart at the seams. "Would my Lords like something to eat or drink?"

Orrin shrugged. "Might as well. I'm hungry, and there's no sense in going home just yet."

"Agreed." Tim opened his purse and lay several silvers onto the table. "We'll have a full meal each, then - soup, salad, main course and dessert. Oh, and a wine to compliment it all."

"Yes sir." The wolf took the coins with a giddy trepidation - they were worth far more than the meal in question, no doubt. He bowed as elaborately as his common upbringing would allow and hurried to fill the orders.

Tim waited until the door had shut. "So, what do you think? About the job, I mean."

"Sounds simple enough." Orrin rubbed his forefinger along a ring of gunk left by Dill's tankard. "And it certainly explains why they'd want two lords to do it. All we'd need to do is find some excuse to get into the King's Quarters."

"Oh, don't you worry about that." Tim patted his friend's paw. "I can think of half a dozen without even trying. We'll talk more about this when we get home. Not sure if this is the safest of places for such a discussion."

"You're right, of course." Dill had spoken comfortably there, but he could very well have had a contact patrolling to keep any curious ears away. Since he'd left, a thousand eavesdroppers could have lined up just outside the door.

And so the two friends were relegated instead to idly shooting the breeze until their food arrived. It wasn't nearly up to palace standards, both in taste and presentation - the vichyssoise was too warm, the fish over-salted, and the rice pudding riddled in clumps - but Orrin saw quite clearly that the cooks really had tried their best to please their new and very well-paying patrons.

Tim ate much faster than he usually did. The squirrel had his first course of soup and salad gone before Orrin was even halfway done with his vichyssoise. He answered the raccoon's curious stare. "I eat quickly when I'm nervous."

"Oh, I don't suppose there's that much to be nervous about." Orrin tipped the wooden soup bowl into his muzzle and drained it. "This job seems incredibly easy. You said so yourself."

"That's sort of what worries me." Tim glanced nervously towards the open doorway. "Later."

***

When the main course of roast halibut and potatoes had been eaten and the pudding also gone, Tim wiped his muzzle on a 'kerchief and stood. "Alright, let's get back to the palace. Might as well finish this job and put it behind us."

"I could not agree more." Orrin let his fork fall to the table with a clang and stood briskly up.

Tim hadn't elaborated much on his worries, but the sheer feel of them was enough to make Orrin worry as well. Something about this whole easy and obvious assignment smelt fishy, and being unable to put his finger on it only made the raccoon more nervous. He followed the squirrel dazedly out of the Weeping Crow and back down market street towards the palace. His only hope was that Werill would provide some dose of clarity to the whole matter.

The two friends entered the palace just as the great clocktower rang four in the afternoon.

Orrin mounted the staircase and turned back to Tim. "I'm going to go speak with Werill."

"I'll come too." The squirrel shot a nervous glance in the direction of a primly-dressed rabbit who had also just arrived. "That's the Lord Secretary, by the way. Finbarr." He jogged to keep close enough to Orrin to whisper. "He's a pretty quiet fellow; I've never actually seen or heard much from him, but he does a good enough job. The King speaks very highly of him."

The rest of the short trek to Orrin's quarters was spent in silence. The raccoon found his servant sitting in one of the armchairs and flipping through a thick volume. "Hello, Werill."

"Good afternoon, Your Lordship." Werill shut the book and laid it neatly onto the writing desk. "How did your visit to the Weeping Crow turn out?"

Orrin motioned for everyone to sit around the dining table. Once Tim and Werill were seated, Orrin told the servant about their strange assignment. "Tim's worried."

"Hmm." Werill massaged his chin thoughtfully. "Yes, it does seem like a rather simple assignment. And the fact that they hired a thief to facilitate it all tells me they aren't as good at break-ins as I thought. Your nearly-unrestricted access to the palace makes you the prime sort of people to do this job. To be fair, though, the lock on those bars is nearly impossible to pick, and to this day, we have been unable to produce a copy of its key."

Tim nodded. "Neither could we. We've acquired many keys, including ones for all of the doors in the King's chambers, but there is only one known copy of that window key, and it goes back to the King's safe every night." He produced the Jammer and showed it to Werill. "Judging by how long this tube is, that key is incredibly unique."

"Yes, long and thin." Werill examined the Jammer warily. "And this is why neither my people nor yours were ever able to make a copy. The standard procedure of taking wax blanks of a key is impossible with this. The wax is simply not exact enough to reproduce something so fine and delicate. Each key like this must be paw cut. And in order to do that, rather than taking a quick wax imprint and returning the key to its rightful place, you need to take the original with you to the cutter." He lay the Jammer neatly upon the tabletop. "Doing so would not be impossible, of course, but it is far too difficult a job for the minor reward it would bring. Actually, hang on a tick. How did you manage to make wax blanks of those other keys, Lord Timmin? Very few people are trusted with them. I had to serve at the palace for many years before I was permitted access."

Timmin shrugged. "I'm not entirely sure. Our spy ring formed here about two years ago, and we've had those keys since the very beginning, as far as I know. Finn must have led a mission to acquire them very early on."

Orrin gave the Jammer another cursory glance. "So, you think we should do it, then."

"Of course." Werill rose from his seat and straightened out his uniform. "This could mean more opportunities in the near future. Besides that, the weasel you spoke of... he is our contact's buyer. Make friends with him, and you can find out where the scent muter is headed."

Tim chuckled. "So, you're the ones producing that wonderful muter, eh? Figures. What are you going to do with your leak?"

"Nothing at all." Werill smiled. "The best kind of leak is one who doesn't know he's been discovered. We'll keep following and trailing him to see what he does next. Who knows, he may just end up leading us do bigger and better things. If we pounced now, we'd risk losing some potentially great opportunities."

"Right." Orrin stood to be level with his servant. "So it looks like a visit to the thieves' guild is in order after this, am I correct?"

"You certainly are." Werill patted his master on the shoulder in a rather unservantlike gesture. "You will have to make very good friends with Dill, even if it means doing more work for him. But that comes later. For now, you have a task ahead of you. I shall make an appointment with the Secretary on your behalf. You have had a number of questions regarding the format for writing taxation documents. As a lord who has just gotten into politics, you haven't quite the knowledge to do those yourself." He winked. "Make good use of that opportunity."

"I'll try." Orrin walked across the room, sitting down in what had slowly become his favorite armchair and watching Werill depart.

Tim sat next to him. "So, here is the other reason for my nervousness." He steepled his fingers. "Why are they doing this? I mean, breaking into the Lord Secretary's study is quite a job. There must be a very good reason for them to do it."

"Oh my, you're right!" Prior, Orrin had been so focused on the job itself that he hadn't really thought about its ultimate outcome. "Is there anything of value in that study? Some sort of documents, perhaps?"

"I doubt it." Tim produced a small ivory comb and used it to gently groom his large tail. "Whoever is behind this would have just hired Dill or some other thieves directly. Instead, they hired..."

Chapter 9

"Assassins." Orrin's stomach turned painfully at the word. "Would they really be after the Secretary?"

"All signs point to yes. The only other person currently in those quarters is the King, and it would be far easier to break into his window directly. But the Secretary stays awake most nights, and if I remember correctly, his desk faces the window. The only way to get at him would be through the door." Tim furrowed his eyebrows in thought. "Yes, the 'how' is certainly all in place, but the why still doesn't make sense. What's the poor rabbit ever done to anyone? I told you not an hour ago about how quiet and out-of-the-way he is. I just can't think of anything he could possibly have done to deserve death in anyone's eyes."

Orrin shivered. "No, I can't do this. I've accepted much in the past week, including being a spy, but I will not have an innocent person's death on my paws."

"As much as I may advocate for duty before feeling..." Tim sighed. "I'm with you on this one. Who knows what sort of trouble this death will bring."

"So, what can we do, then?" Orrin's worries quieted when he saw a familiar roguish smile creep across his friend's face.

"We set a trap." Tim reached into his pocket and fished out the Jammer. "They want us to jam the window. What does this tell us?"

"That the thief plans to come in through that window."

"Exactly!" Tim rolled the tube between his paws as his brain went to work. "So, what if we install this Jammer..." His smile broadened. "And then sit and wait in that very guest room for our friend to show up."

"That will depend on how good said friend is with a blade." Orrin looked down at his rapier. "I'm only a novice when it comes to fencing. Trapping him is no good if we can't subdue him."

"Correct!" Tim pocketed the Jammer once more. "Come. We will enlist Rowann's aid."

"Your servant?" Orrin followed the squirrel, bemused. "He doesn't seem too terribly threatening."

"Appearances are often deceiving." Tim opened the door and padded towards his room. "Trust me, he's one of only a few I'd trust with my life - deadly with a blade and even deadlier with his paws."

The subject of their conversation answered the door as the two spies approached. "Good afternoon, My Lords."

"Rowann, we need your assistance." Timmin let Orrin inside and slammed the door with his foot. "I've been telling Orrin about how good you are in a fight."

The wolf smiled modestly. "If it comes to that, sir. Although, I prefer-"

"Not the time." Tim laid a finger against the wolf's muzzle. "This case offers us no alternatives." Bit by bit, he explained their situation and the trap he planned to set.

Rowann listened patiently keeping his features entirely disinterested. "I will of course help you, Your Lordship. If we manage to capture this assassin, his interrogation could yield some incredibly valuable information."

"Good!" Tim clapped his servant on the shoulder. "Then free up your after-dinner schedule tonight. We are going assassin-hunting." He straightened out his shirt collar. "Let's go see our Lord Secretary, then, shall we?"

***

The Secretary's office was located within the King's chambers. Two towering bears stood posted at the entrance. The sight of these twin colossi made Orrin feel just a bit safer about the Secretary. Once they were out of earshot, he turned to Tim. "Well, now I understand why our friend wants to go in through the window. But how are we getting in?"

"We don't have to worry about those two." Tim shrugged. "His Majesty is very kind to his guards. He posts none at night. Thinks five sets of locked doors is enough. And normally, it is. Those doors are next to impossible for anyone but the best of thieves to pick. However, as I said, we have the keys." He passed through the next door and then two more. "There we are." There were two doors in that room.

Tim explained. "That one goes further into the King's quarters. The room it leads to splits into the Secretary's Study and the King's own suite. This one, meanwhile-" He placed a paw tentatively on the gilded knob and twisted. The door opened without a sound, its hinges perfectly oiled. "This one is the guest room. It is reserved for close friends of the King. Very close friends. Nearly everyone else gets put up somewhere else in the palace." He padded across the plush carpet and towards a set of bars, discreetly hidden away behind a thick curtain of blue velour. "Oh yes, breaking into these would be quite the challenge. Folded steel bars with a keyhole so thin and long that no pick can reach deep enough to tickle all of the tumblers." He slipped the jammer into the keyhole and pulled Orrin along. "But that's not what we're here for, are we?"

Together, the two friends left the guest room and padded into the next foyer.

"This way." Tim turned to the closer of the two locked doors. He walked briskly over and knocked. "Lord Secretary? Lord Orrin is here to see you."

A dusty voice emanated from behind the polished oak. "Ah yes. Come in, come in. The door is open."

Orrin obeyed. "Good evening, Secretary." He shook paws with the rabbit, careful not to shake too hard for fear of disturbing the thick layer of dust that lay on nearly every surface.

"Good evening, Lord Orrin." Finbarr proceeded straight to business. "Your servant has told me about your plight. Fortunately, I have several copies of a filled-out tax creation form." He picked a neatly-inscribed leaf of parchment up from the desktop and gave it to Orrin. "Just write yours out in exactly the same way, but replace all of the names and dates. That should suffice. You can keep this copy for yourself, actually."

"Perfect, thank you so much." Orrin rolled up the parchment. "Well, that certainly makes my job quite easy. I won't take up any more of your time, sir."

"Oh, I am happy to help however I can." Finbarr smiled warmly. "Come back anytime. My door is always open." He chuckled. "I pretty much live in my study. Here at sunrise, and I tend to stay past midnight on most days. His Majesty has kindly allowed me free use of the guestroom next door."

"Your dedication is truly something to behold, sir." Tim bowed. "Thank you again for all of your help."

"Don't mention it." The words came distracted and unfocused. Finbarr was already hard at work and paying his visitors little attention.

Orrin shrugged and followed Tim outside. "What a nice fellow. I wonder who would want him dead and buried."

Tim led them back to his quarters and sat down behind his own writing desk. "If all goes as planned, we will soon find out. Or at least get closer to doing so - it all depends on how much our friend knows and how well he will crack under interrogation. Now- ah, here we are!" He showed Orrin a beautifully-crafted set of daggers. "I used to train hard with these. Let's hope I didn't forget everything I'd learned. Although, I bet it won't get to that. Rowann should be quite helpful in restraining him."

"Let's hope you're right on all accounts, then." Orrin couldn't remember being more sincere all day. Subconsciously, he knew that if he believed in the squirrel's boundless facade of confidence, things would at least feel easier. "Do we need any more preparations?"

Tim threaded the dagger sheaths through his belt and inserted each blade into its proper purchase. He looked up. "No. Meet me back here at eleven. That's about it."

Orrin nodded and showed himself out.

***

He spent the rest of the day relaxing in his room and trying not to think about the task ahead. Several times, the raccoon looked around for something, anything with which to busy himself, but nothing came to mind. Everything that needed to have been done was done. Waiting was all that remained.

Finally, the palace clocktower tolled eleven. Orrin hopped out of bed, dressed in an ensemble of black and grey, and met up with Tim.

The squirrel was unusually calm. He sat in his chair, both eyes closed, breathing evenly through his nose. "Come in, come in. All ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be." Orrin giggled. "I've spent the past few hours doing nothing but getting ready."

"I meditated." Tim opened his eyes. "Helps get me focused. Rowann!"

The wolf emerged from his bedroom and went to stand obediently by his master. "Everything is ready, sir." He produced a glass vial from his frock pocket.

Tim accepted the vial and dabbed its contents around his neck and groin area. "Your turn." He tossed the bottle to Orrin.

The raccoon caught it and mimicked his friend's gestures. The liquid smelt faintly of pine at first, but slowly both that and the familiar scents coming from both him and the squirrel faded almost entirely.

Tim hopped out of his chair. "Good. No dallying now; up and at 'em." He took off in a swift walk across his chambers and out.

Orrin followed, and Rowann brought up the rear.

The wolf locked up his master's chambers. "Lead the way, sir."

"As I always do." Tim sped up his walk. Much like their first trip to the baths, he led the group up a set of back stairways, far away from the main passages of the palace. Not a soul met them on the way, and Orrin was all too happy for it.

Finally, the familiar besigilled doors of the King's chambers loomed close.

Tim took a wary look around and produced a ring of silver keys from his trouser pocket. Each key was marked with a number, and key number one found its way quickly into the lock. The door opened with nary a sound. Tim released the sigh he'd been holding in. "Let's hope they're all that easy. We've had these replicas for quite some time, but we've never actually used them." He held the door open for the others and then walked through himself.

The next door opened just as easily, as did the rest. All through, the King's policy to not put up night guards stayed strong.

Still perplexed, Orrin voiced his observation. "I still don't understand why Rasdill doesn't have round-the-clock guards. It couldn't possibly that expensive, could it?"

"No." Tim chuckled. "He is too nice. He refuses to have anything but his paw-picked to guard him, but he allows them to sleep properly as a result. He has little reason to fear for his life, really. The people love him; the nation is not at war. Besides that, he is certainly one fox who believes in locks. Ah, and speaking of-" The last door clicked open, and the group padded quietly into the Lord Secretary's Parlor.

Tim pressed his ear against the far door. "He's in there, alright. Scribbling away at some parchment or another." Along with the others, he backtracked to the previous parlor and entered the guestroom. "Alright, gents. Hide and wait. And don't fall asleep."

Rowann crawled underneath a gaudy, cloth-clad table and Orrin slinked behind a broad, overstuffed armchair.

Again, they waited, able to do little else. All the while, Orrin watched the window. It stood silent and closed, mocking him.

Finally, just as a slow and warm mantle of sleep passed over the raccoon's tired eyes, a soft snick brought him to wakefulness. Orrin glanced around. Through the gloom, he saw the doorknob jiggle several times.

Adrenaline flooded through his veins, and the raccoon crossed the room over to where Tim had hidden. "Over there."

The squirrel nodded and took his paw off his dagger.

Rowann joined them momentarily. "Perhaps the Secretary has decided to call it a night."

Tim sighed. "So the hunt is over." He shrank back into the shadows.

The door opened, but what stood in its frame was no hare. Instead, a figure clad in black slunk out and looked about. He inched the door closed with nary a sound and glided silently towards the window.

Rowann sprung to action. Like a ghost, he slithered across the room and pounced upon his prey.

The creature was caught entirely unawares. It fell beneath the wolf's immense weight.

Tim and Orrin ran to help.

The raccoon held the assailant's paws while Tim bound them with a strong length of cord.

Hissing and writhing, the rat made to bite, but a thwack from Rowann's blackjack put a temporary end to his struggles.

The wolf stood and sighed with relief. "Well, that takes care of that." He slung the body over his shoulder, as if the rat weighed nothing at all. "I will take him to the appropriate location, sirs. Find out what you can and make scarce."

"Will do." Tim patted his servant heartily on the back and watched him go. He looked down at the floor. "Hang on, it seems our friend has dropped something." It was a ring of brass keys, simple and unadorned. "Wonder which doors these little Judies unlock."

Orrin, lost in his own thoughts, had barely heard the squirrel. "Wait a tick. How in the world did he come in? Look, the bars are still in place, and everything is still locked." The thick fog of confusion slowly cleared. "Then, it wasn't his entrance strategy we were providing."

"It was his exit." Tim sprinted for the Secretary's room and threw open the door.

In the light of a flickering candle, the hare sat slouched in his chair. His vacant eyes, open and staring into empty space made death apparent before Orrin even had a chance to cross the room.

Tim sighed. "Nothing we can do."

"So, that's it?" Orrin watched the candle's flame illuminate the corpse's frozen features in a slow and steady flicker. "We failed." He let out a long sigh and headed groggily for the door.

Tim stopped him just as the raccoon lay a paw upon the polished brass door handle. "Where are you going?"

"Back to my quarters." Orrin let out the words in a mumble and moved to turn the doorknob. It was locked. "What in the-"

The squirrel pulled him away. "Are you surprised? Those are the King's chambers. Of course the door is locked. Actually, hang on." He fished around his pockets and produced the bronze ring of keys. "Our friend had too many keys on him, unless..." The final key clicked into its lock, but the tumblers did not turn. Tim shrugged. "Hm, guess my little theory was wrong." He grabbed Orrin's paw and pulled him towards the other door. "Come."

With a swift gait, he led the raccoon out of the King's quarters and back to his own. "Well, at least now we know that our friend was never planning to go after the King. That theory sprang to mind and nearly scared me lifeless."

Orrin sighed. "If that's the case, then we've truly failed. The assassin finished his job. The Secretary is dead."

Tim patted his friend's paw encouragingly. "Oh, we have far from failed. We caught the killer."

Orrin sat in the squirrel's armchair, still uncertain of how to feel. "Should we bring him to the King?"

"Absolutely not!" Tim poured them both a glass of orange juice. "Who knows what sort of valuable information he may possess. No, we need to keep him for ourselves. Besides that, he somehow managed to get keys for the King's chambers, and you know by now how hard those are to come by."

"An inside job?" Orrin took a swig of juice.

Tim nodded. "Exactly. And if that's the case, whoever provided those keys, may just try to silence their employee before the interrogation can be made. No, that would be a waste. Instead, we will interrogate him. Trust me, the Tilmarii have quite the sophisticated set of interrogation techniques for that."

"If you say so." Orrin could not hold back a sigh. He was supposed to feel happy and accomplished, but Finbarr's death still hung heavy enough upon him to mar any chance at a positive humor. "I think it's time I go to sleep. Trivus is waiting for me."

"Right, of course." Tim finished his glass and set it down slowly. "Go ahead. I'll see you tomorrow. Can't judge the aftermath until then. I do not know who planned this, but I highly doubt that the Secretary's death is anything more than a stepping stone for something bigger. All we can do now is keep our ears to the ground and listen for tremors. But with all of the commotion tonight's events will cause, those tremors will likely not occur for quite some time."

"Right." There was little more to say. Behind Tim's mask of victory, Orrin saw flashes of sadness. The Secretary's death did not, it seemed, pass the squirrel by unaffected. "Let's meet for breakfast." With a dismissive nod from his friend, the raccoon showed himself out and hurried to Trivus's quarters.

The fox awaited nervously behind a set dinner table. When he saw Orrin, he smiled. "I told you we would dine at the stroke of midnight if that's what it took."

Some of the sadness from before dissipated at seeing the warm smile. Orrin couldn't help but return such a gesture of happiness. He moved to sit across the table from Trivus but chose to walk around and kiss the fox first. It wasn't the deep and passionate kiss from the night before, but Trivus looked no less impressed.

He reciprocated gladly and smiled even broader. "I hope you're hungry! I had cold dishes prepared. Figured it didn't matter if they sat around for a while."

Orrin giggled. "Very sound logic." He picked up a cucumber sandwich and bit into the bread's delicate, flakey crust.

At this unspoken command, Trivus attacked the food with fervor.

Orrin stopped eating after a while and dedicated his attention, instead, to watching the fox. "Hungry?"

"Mhm!" Trivus paused only to give his companion a brief smile. "Haven't eaten since lunch. I was waiting for you."

"Makes sense." Orrin ladled a bowl of vichyssoise and sipped the fragrant soup delicately. "How is palace life treating you?"

"Very well, actually." Trivus finally ate his fill. He leaned back in his chair with a happy sigh. "Things have been pretty relaxing."

'Just wait 'til tomorrow.' Orrin sighed. Things, he knew, would certainly change. How, he could not discern. He jumped when Trivus's arms snaked their way around his waist.

"What do you say we head off to bed?" The fox nibbled gently on Orrin's neck, and any doubts and worries the raccoon had been harboring quickly evaporated. Tomorrow could wait.

"Hey, can we try something new this time?" Orrin grazed the fox's creamy chest with his claws.

Trivus's smile turned from alluring to curious, as he lay atop the silk sheets, stretching luxuriantly in palpable anticipation of what was to come. "What did you have in mind?"

To answer, Orrin turned the fox over and spread Trivus's thighs gingerly with his fingers. The sight of the pink pucker sent a pleasant shiver through the young raccoon. Already drooling in anticipation, he licked the tightened muscle.

Such an unfamiliar sensation elicited a surprised gasp from the fox. "Oh my! I-" the rest of his thoughts escaped in a moan, as Orrin licked again and then once more.

The raccoon held on to his bedmate's supple rear and licked until Trivus's member had emerged fully from its sheath. It was time.

Orrin slicked his paw with oil and ran it up and down his throbbing length. He positioned himself behind the fox, admiring the creature's rippling back and arm muscles. With a careful push, Orrin penetrated the fox.

Trivus winched. "Oh, you're big." The look of pain quickly gave way to a broad smile. "Hey, do not take that as a complaint, mind."

Orrin grabbed hold of the fox's waist and pushed in all the way.

This time, he was rewarded with a soft moan. The raccoon smiled and eased his hips into the motion he knew and loved so well. Each time, he pulled out to the tip and then thrust back in.

Trivus's moans grew louder. His demeanor changed from apprehensive to entirely willing. The fox pushed back rhythmically against each thrust, encouraging Orrin to go harder.

The raccoon was more than happy to oblige. His thrusts increased in speed and power until all Trivus could do was hold on to the nearest pillow and moan, fervently stroking his own length.

The heat in Orrin's loins built until all the raccoon could think of was finishing. He threw himself atop Trivus, knocking the fox's arms out from underneath him, still thrusting with passion and vigor. The climax built, and Orrin teetered on its edge, his arms tightly around Trivus's midriff and his teeth clamped around the fox's neck.

Even then, Trivus came first. The fox humped harder and harder against the mattress until orgasm finally hit. He moaned and buckled beneath the raccoon, coating the sheets with seed.

Orrin wasn't far behind. He growled, tightened his grip on Trivus and released, spraying load after load of semen inside the fox. Finished, the raccoon pulled slowly out with a gasp, his member still quite sensitive. "How was that?"

"Oh, nothing short of incredible, truly." Trivus lay down atop the raccoon and let out a warm sigh. "Yes, I've certainly never been with anyone like you, Orrin. I'll have quite the difficult time deciding between topping and bottoming now."

"Let's take turns, then." Orrin licked the fox's nose; the pleasant tingle had yet to wear off. "A very simple solution, don't you think?" He held the fox close and drifted off before any unpleasant thoughts had even the merest chance of seeping their way into his incredibly good mood.

Chapter 10

The raccoon awoke feeling pleasant and refreshed. "Good m-" He turned over, but Trivus was nowhere to be found. Orrin dressed himself in the previous night's attire and jogged hastily out of the room. As the grogginess of sleep faded, everything came back to him, along with a fresh dose of fear and panic.

He found Trivus in the study, speaking in hushed tones with the King.

When the foxes sighted Orrin, their conversation quickly ceased.

"Your Majesty." The raccoon bowed low. "What an unexpected pleasure."

"Unexpected. Yes, that's one word for it." Rasdill smiled politely, but his eyes remained tired. "Lord Orrin, I am terribly sorry, but I must ask for some privacy with the Count."

"Of course." It took every ounce of will to maintain a stoic manner. "Is something the matter?"

Rasdill glanced briefly at Trivus. "I would rather not discuss it at the present moment. When we have had a chance for further deliberation, we shall make an announcement to everyone at the palace."

"Then I shan't keep you." Orrin bowed once more. "Best of luck in dealing with whatever it is." He hastened out of the room and up the stairs to Tim's quarters.

The squirrel sprung out of his chair the minute he saw his friend. "Well?"

"The King is in Trivus's chambers right now." Orrin sighed. "It is not looking good. Not that I expected it to."

"Indeed." Tim offered the raccoon a pastry and a glass of milk. "Well, let's wait and see. That's about all we can really do at the moment. We have the spy detained, and interrogation is due to begin soon. Our orders are to keep all eyes and ears out for anything suspicious."

"And there is one thing I'll be looking for most of all." Orrin bit into the pastry and chewed, noting the faint presence of cherry. "The motive. So far, I haven't so much as a theory. If we can find out why Finbarr had to die, we will surely discover the people behind it."

"Good thinking!" Tim's features brightened. "Yes, that's the key! Rather than looking for the perpetrator directly, we need to find out why they wanted Finbarr dead." He rose from his chair. "Now, let's go have a proper breakfast. I'm starving!" With his mood entirely mirrored, the squirrel sauntered off to the dining room, whistling a happy tune all the while.

Orrin simply shrugged and followed sparing a few chuckles for his strange friend.

When he got to the dining hall, Tim had already seated himself.

The squirrel was busy listing out his breakfast order to a prim marmot, who dutifully recorded each entry on a sheet of parchment. Tim looked up. "Ah, there you are! Come on, hurry up and order breakfast before this chap leaves."

"Eggs on toast, please." Orrin sat next to his friend. "And black tea."

"Yes sir." The marmot scribbled down the rest of the order and hurried to fill it.

Orrin opened his muzzle to ask Tim about the date of the interrogation, but he never got a chance to speak.

The dining room doors burst open and a crowd of nobles flooded in. They walked in small groups, chatting worriedly amongst themselves. An air of tension filled the cavernous hall.

King Rasdill walked in last, followed by Trivus and a pudgy, middle-aged squirrel dressed in an outfit of red.

Trivus gave a whispered command to the guards, who quickly shut the doors and went to stand by their king.

Rasdill cleared his throat, and the dining hall fell silent. "Lords and ladies, what I have come to tell you is not a pleasant thing. Last night, our beloved Lord Secretary Finbarr passed away from an acute failure of the heart. This was an untimely passing that none of us could have anticipated. His funeral will be held in three days' time, and I encourage all of you to attend and give respect for someone who has given so much to his country." He ushered the pudgy squirrel forward. "Taking his post as Lord Secretary will be Mister Riius. As you all know, the peerage of Lord Secretary is not an inherited one. As such, Mister Riius shall hence be a peer of the realm, until his passing, dismissal or resignation."

Riius bowed. "Thank you, Your Majesty. I shall do my best to fill Lord Finbarr's duties. Although, he has done an incredible job, so that will be quite a task."

At some silent signal, the dining room broke out in applause for the newly-appointed Secretary.

Orrin clapped with the rest, although half-heartedly. He'd never met Riius before, and all he could think about was how long it would take before someone decided to make an attempt at the squirrel's life as well. Or perhaps Riius himself was somehow involved.

Rasdill held his paw aloft for silence once more. "That is all, Lords and Ladies. You are free to go."

His guards opened and held the dining room doors, and the King departed.

Trivus made to leave too, but then he sighted Orrin. The fox padded quickly over. "Good morning." He kissed the raccoon affectionately. "I'm sorry we had to usher you out so abruptly from my quarters. The Secretary's death gave the King and I a lot to talk about. Would you like to meet for dinner again, perhaps?"

"I would love to." Orrin allowed the marmot from before to serve him. "And a sleepover afterwards would also be great."

Some of the tiredness in Trivus's eyes dissipated with the suggestion. "Of course! Yes, that does sound phenomenal. Tonight, then. And now I must go, sadly. Business to tend to." His eyes lingered on the raccoon, and he left with a visible reluctance in his vulpine features.

"An acute failure of the heart, eh?" Tim sniggered. "Well, that's one way to not cause panic."

"Indeed." Orrin sat next to his friend and gave him a look of someone weary from secrets. "Let's hope that killer of yours has some sort of really vital information for us."

"He might." Tim's eyes lingered on Orrin's. He sighed. "But I'd hate to get your hopes up. Chances are, he was merely working for some anonymous customer."

"Looks like we will have to simply wait and see." Orrin ended the conversation and graciously accepted his breakfast from the waiter. He spoke again only when the marmot was well out of earshot. "What's on the docket for today?"

Tim paused to thoughtfully rub his chin. "Hmm... well, I suppose now's as good a time as ever for me to take you on a little shopping excursion." His voice lowered to a hiss. "A shopping excursion into the seedier part of the city, as it were. You need a proper set of lock picks and that."

"Ah yes, that's right!" Orrin spoke between bites of egg and toast. "And perchance we'll run into our contractor friend again. I would certainly like to ask him a few questions."

"You'd best not, mate." Tim lay a cautionary paw upon his friend's shoulder. "We don't want to draw undue attention. Let's start with the killer first. See what he says."

The rashness of his move dawned upon Orrin, and the raccoon folded his ears from embarrassment. "Very well. When are we going on this excursion, by the way?"

Tim giggled. "Oh, don't worry, you will be back in time for dinner... as well as those other things you are so greatly looking forward to."

"Am I that obvious?" Orrin grinned sheepishly. He knew he was.

Tim shrugged. "Not really, no. But I'd be a fool to think you weren't looking forward to your bedtime friend." He breathed a blissful sigh. "Heaven knows, I certainly would be." A few bites of pastry later, he cleaned his muzzle with a napkin and stood. "Come, then. Let's not waste daylight. We've plenty to do even before we take our excursion."

"Like a change of clothes?" In all his gaudy orange silks, saying Tim was 'rather noticeable' in a seedy neighborhood was quite a bit more than an understatement. Orrin looked down at his own attire and realized much of the same was true for him as well.

"That's quite right." Tim jabbed his friend on the arm. "See, you're definitely getting the hang of things. Come on, let's go see what we can acquire."

Orrin followed the squirrel through the enormous double doors and back to Tim's room. "But won't they get suspicious of two lords shopping for commoner's clothes?"

"Naturally." Tim held the door open and shut it only after a thorough check of the empty corridor. "That is why my servant has done the shopping in our stead. Rowann!"

The door to the wolf's quarters flew open, and their occupant hurried out. "Yes, Your Lordship?"

"Have those clothes been purchased yet?" Tim unbuttoned his waistcoat without waiting for an answer.

Rowann sighed with relief. "Oh dear, I thought you'd summoned me for some sort of emergency, sir. Yes, the clothes have been purchased. I shall fetch them for you." He bowed and retreated to his quarters.

Tim, meanwhile, locked the front door and proceeded to undress fully. "Good old Rowann." He made a show of slipping off his undershorts and working them past his engorged member. "So, when will you and I get to play again, eh?" Another enticing turn, and he had his back to Orrin. "All those fellows at the Peony are great, but you are just in a league all to yourself, my friend."

Orrin watched the squirrel's curvy rump all but beckon him to draw closer. "Oh, it must be soon. Very soon indeed." He adjusted the growing bulge in his trousers and allowed his member to slide up underneath the belt. The musk of arousal grew stronger, and everything seemed quite right. Still, Orrin hesitated. Some strange force kept him back. "Yes, we've got to do it quite soon. After all, Trivus can't have me all to himself, can he?" As rhetorical as he'd made the question sound, the raccoon pondered it silently.

"I'd hope not, certainly." Tim wiggled his rump once more and then took a seat in one of his armchairs. "I'm not usually one for envy, but you are definitely making a case for yourself, Lord Orrin." He stroked his maleness idly. "But I suppose I shall have to wait. There are bigger and more important things to be done right now. Not the least of which is getting you outfitted for any eventualities."

A knock came.

Orrin turned to find its source coming from the direction of Rowann's quarters. "Yes?"

"May I bring the clothes, Your Lordship?" The door stayed shut.

Tim sighed. "Yes, you may, Rowann. We aren't doing anything indecent. Not at the moment, anyway. As sad as it might make me."

Rowann opened the door and brought out a pile of clothes. "Here we are." The wolf divided the pile neatly into two. "The smaller set is for Lord Timmin, and the other is for you, sir."

They were commoner's clothes of the plainest sort - a pair of brown quilted doublets, two undyed shirts and two pairs of unadorned breeches.

Tim examined the wares with an evident disgust in his features. "Oy, I don't relish wearing these in the least. Where are the bright colors, the tassels? But I suppose we do what we must, eh?" Nimbly, the squirrel hopped into his breeches and threw on the smaller of the two shirts. He then busied himself with tying the points on his doublet to the pants.

Orrin did much the same. He didn't care about wearing such plain attire quite as much as his friend did, but he certainly did find himself missing his outfit of blue.

Rowann helped straighten his master's outfit and then stood back to examine the two spies. "Not bad. Not bad at all, in fact. If I didn't know who you two were, I would easily pass you off for a pair of commoners."

Tim fluttered his eyelashes. "Oh Rowann, you flatterer. Alright, wait for us at the Two Barrels in about three hours' time."

"Of course, sir." The wolf collected their discarded finery and neatly folded each piece. "Will you require anything else?"

"No, I believe that's quite it." Orrin snapped his fingers. "Actually, one more thing. Inform Werill of my whereabouts just in case."

"It will be done." Rowann bowed low. "Fairest of fortune to you, sirs."

Orrin hoped silently that fortune was not something he'd need to lean too heavily upon. It was only a quick trip to pick out some thieves' gear. But he smiled anyway. "Thank you, Rowann."

Tim led the way out of his chambers and then quickly slunk into a nearby niche, pulling the raccoon along. "We are commoners in the palace now. Can't let anyone see us, lest they start asking questions." He waited for a pair of mice to pass them by before re-emerging and padding silently down the corridor.

Orrin followed along and did his best to match both the squirrel's speed and perfectly noiseless gait. Along the way, the pair of them dodged several more passersby, once by dashing around a corner and out of sight, and twice by fortuitously finding rooms which were both unlocked and unoccupied.

Finally, Tim and Orrin made it down to the ground floor.

The squirrel unlocked the door to the hedge maze and led them through with all the skill of someone who'd done so far too many times. Without pause, he hopped onto the outer wall and climbed it with a fitting speed and grace.

Orrin caught up with him towards the top of the parapet, and the two friends shared a wink.

Tim giggled. "Race to the bottom?"

An approaching guard cut off Orrin's chance for reply. The raccoon merely nodded and began his descent. He climbed tail to tail with the squirrel, each paw and foot balletically finding purchase in the old stone. The guard above passed them with nary a glance down and kept walking, whistling all the while.

A story or so from the ground, Orrin looked over at Tim. "Well, that's enough climbing, I reckon." He released the stones he'd been holding and pushed off the wall with both feet. The world around him froze, and the familiar and oh so pleasant rush of adrenaline filled the young raccoon's veins. He arched his back into a flip and rotated to a neat, feet-first landing on the cobblestone road.

Tim chose to climb the rest of the height instead. He joined the raccoon at the base of the wall. "Impressive, sir. Most impressive." With a flourish of his doublet, the squirrel passed Orrin, pausing only briefly to give his friend's firm behind a good squeeze. He turned his head as he walked. "Sorry, couldn't resist. You know me."

Orrin merely rolled his eyes and fell into step with his raunchy compatriot. He wasn't sure what the future would hold for them, but one thing he hoped dearly for was a chance to keep the squirrel as a close friend no matter what happened. Not even in Vintaa, a place that he was so hesitant to leave, did the raccoon have such a close and dear friend.

Tim led the way confidently down the street, as the homes and shoppes around them slowly grew less and less presentable. There was a shabbiness about of a place that was once something more majestic than it had become, as if its original tenants had left, and the new denizens simply never bothered with any sort of upkeep.

Tim noticed his friend's fascination with this scene of ruined grandeur. "This is actually a fairly nice part of the city, still. Gets much worse, trust me. Thankfully, that's a part of town we won't be visiting - not today, at least." He approached a narrow shoppe wedged tightly in between two far wider establishments. "Gedill's bakery. Her pastries may be atrocious, but that's not why people frequent that particular establishment."

Orrin stepped inside. "So, if they don't come in for the baked goods, why-"

Tim silenced the raccoon with a wave of his left paw. He sauntered over to the counter and addressed a rather demure-looking, elderly mouse behind it. "Evening, madam. Are the scones fresh?"

For such a small, grandmotherly thing, the mouse's voice truly sounded borrowed. "I ain't seen your 'coon friend 'round before." She turned towards Orrin, adjusted her flowery shawl, and assaulted him with an even gruffer bark. "What's your deal 'ere? One of 'em snoops?"

Orrin recovered quickly. "I'm here to buy some goods. Need a Betty or two.

Before the mouse could reply, Tim stepped in. "Come on, Tiira. He's with me. And trust me, he's got more coin to spend than you'll make all month."

The mouse gave the pair another heavily appraising glance. "Aye?"

Tim nodded, meeting her eye without the slightest hint of fear.

With a gruff cough, Tiira hopped off her paw stool, only her large ears remaining visible from behind the counter. She scurried over to a nearby rug and pushed it aside with an ungainly kick. "G'wan."

Tim helped her with a heavy trap door. He nodded to Orrin. "Down you go, mate."

Orrin padded cautiously to the opening and lowered himself down a rickety ladder, careful to grip the rough wood only as much as necessary to avoid a nasty splinter. He hopped off the last rung and looked about. Around him was a roughly-dug cavern, its walls hung thick with all manner of weaponry, lock picks and other sundry devices the raccoon could not identify.

A lanky ferret emerged from a shadow between two burning torches, his black fur unkempt, his fangs yellowed. "Evenin'." He extended a grubby paw towards Orrin.

"Hello there." Orrin shook, doing his best to hide the disgust at the slow and powerful smell of unwashed fur that wafted from his conversant's direction. He managed a chuckle. "You're not going to give me a dressing down like your mouse friend did, are you?"

"Nah. Tiira Gerdill is the one who does the barking 'round here." He gave the raccoon a crooked smile. "If ya got past her, you're alright by me. Now, what can I do ya for?" With a broad wave of his arm and another gust of his foul bodily odor, the ferret pointed to the far wall. "Brand new blackjacks. Just got 'em in this week. Take a good swing, aim for that little ridge where the skull meets the neck, and you'll have no problems."

Tim descended the last rung and walked up behind Orrin. "Oy, Syyl. Been a while."

"Aye." The ferret graced the squirrel with a broad, yellow-toothed smile. "Hope yer friend is as loaded as you."

"Loaded enough." Tim padded over to the broad array of lock picks hanging in wire loops on the far wall. "Well, you'll definitely be needing some of these betties." One by one, he plucked three picks from their slots. "These should do ya well."

Orrin accepted the picks and looked them carefully over. Each had a different shape on the edge. One a square, one a triangle and one a spiral. "I've used these first two." He rolled the triangle-toothed betty between thumb and forefinger. "Although these are far nicer than the ones I own."

Syyl beamed proudly. "Aye, nothin' beats our craftsmanship. Finest betties in the land, mark my word, they are! Eight silver; each."

Orrin harrumphed. "Dearest betties in all the land too." But there was little else to do but pay. The less bartering he did, the more amicable Syyl would be. And the raccoon knew he could not afford to make any enemies. He counted out three gold pieces from his purse and passed them to Syyl. "Keep the change."

The ferret accepted such a charitable offer with nary a blink. He bit each of the coins in turn, leaving a jagged dent in the portrait of some bygone king. "Looks good. Anythin' else ya need?"

Orrin looked at Tim. "Anything?"

The squirrel shrugged. "You are always welcome to pick up a blackjack or some oil for hinges."

Orrin did so. With Tim's help, he picked out a stout club and a thin, metal flask of hinge oil. Syyl tried to work his inferior sales magic on some climbing rope and hooks, but the raccoon politely refused. "I'm a fairly decent climber without those."

"Suit yourself." The ferret sighed with perhaps too much heaviness for someone who'd merely lost a perspective purchase. His eyes, meanwhile, darted about the torchlit walls in a visible effort to pick out just one more item his wealthy buyer simply needed to possess.

But Orrin had no intention of sticking around for such things. "Thank you, Syyl, you've been quite helpful." He pocketed the betties and mounted the ladder. "Some other time, perhaps."

Upstairs, Triia awaited. "Hurry up!" She glared at the raccoon with beady eyes. "Got a line for Syyl's bloody shop, and not one bloke for me vittles."

And then Orrin noticed - this was, in fact, a bake shop. The shelves were stacked with breads and pastries, all wafting a gentle scent, all completely untouched. Some of Triia's anger began to make sense. The raccoon produced a silver from his purse. "I'll have some apple turnovers, if you've got 'em."

The mouse blinked. "What?"

"Turnovers." Orrin located the pastry in question. "I'll take four."

Triia responded slightly quicker than before. "No foolin'?" A thin smile spread across her wizened features.

"No foolin'." Orrin placed the silver onto the countertop and slid it across.

With cub-like trepidation, Triia picked up the coin. "A-alright. Her smile broadened, and she hopped off the stool. "Just four?"

"Yes, four should do well." Orrin watched Tim's amazed expression as the squirrel stood and stared at a scene he was doubtless sure he'd never see. "I'm hungry."

Triia stood on tip-paw and picked out four of the freshest turnovers she could find. "There we are." She wrapped them in wax paper and passed the parcel to Orrin. "A-anything else?"

"No, that's it for the time being. Thank you." Orrin shot the frozen Tim a smile from across the room. "Shall we?"

The squirrel nodded, recovering slowly from his stupor. "Alright. He caught up with Orrin, and the two headed for the door.

Before either could reach it, however, the door opened, and a rather familiar weasel entered. "'Scuse me." Dill glanced briefly at the other two patrons. He took two more steps before realizing just whom he'd bumped into. "Oh my."

Orrin opened his muzzle to greet the weasel, but he didn't get the chance.

Dill uttered a frightened squeak, spun in place and broke into a mad dash.

Tim shared a bewildered glance with his friend. "Why did he run?"

Orrin shrugged. "Won't know 'til we catch him." With that, the raccoon followed the weasel's example.

He ran headlong down the cobblestone road, keeping the weasel squarely in his sights. Behind him, Tim had also emerged.

He put on a burst of speed and caught up with the raccoon. "Alright, you follow him, I'll take that side street there and hopefully cut him off."

Orrin nodded, still keeping his eyes on the mark. "Deal." He ducked around a passing carriage, as building after shabby building sped heedlessly by. The street grew slowly narrower, and the stones used to pave it grew more and more infrequent. Twice, the raccoon's foot plunged into a pothole and nearly caused him to fall. But Orrin persisted.

His target, however, appeared to know every stone in the road by heart. He hopped nimbly around potholes and kept a steady speed that soon had Orrin losing sight of him entirely.

Stamina, it seemed, wasn't much on Orrin's side either. Every step he took hit the raccoon harder and harder until the tremors turned to painful vibrations that coursed up his burning legs and up the spine. 'Where are ya, Tim?' Orrin dared not whisper, intent on saving every last breath he had.

But by coincidence or not, the squirrel answered his plea. With a grunt, he lunged out of an alleyway just as the weasel approached it. He wrapped his arms around the lanky creature's body, and the two of them fell hard.

Dill struggled valiantly, but his captor was an expert grappler.

By the time Orrin reached them, Tim had the weasel pinned and still. "Alright, mate," the squirrel twisted his captive's paw just enough to make the unfortunate cry out in pain, "why did you run from us? A certain payment you owe us, perhaps, for a job well done?"

"Yes." Dill relaxed with a defeated sigh. "I know I owe ya, but my contract never came through. In fact, I heard neither head nor tail of him after last night, I swear to ya." He tried to stand, but Tim was not in agreement with such a decision.

"So, what now? You may be completely alright with getting duped, but we sure are not. What say you tell us who your contact is?"

"I would, believe you me." Dill sighed once more. "In fact, if I knew, I'd have come after the blaggard myself. I don't take too kindly to people like that."

Orrin examined the weasel's face for any sign of lies. But either Dill was a master fibber, which was entirely possible, or he was actually telling the truth. "And if we were to try and find out, how would we go about doing that?"

"Oh, there are ways..." Dill trailed off and looked away, as if hoping the other two would forget he'd even spoken.

Orrin hadn't. "Go on."

"Well, one way," the weasel's eyes grew wide with fear. "But I ain't doing it."

Tim grinned wickedly and leaned on his prisoner's arm. "Oh, go on, you can be more reasonable than that, surely. We've been very kind to you so far. He unsheathed a dagger from his bandolier and grazed it along the weasel's throat. "We could well have gutted you for all the trouble you've caused us."

Dill stiffened visibly as the dagger crept close to his fur. "Look, I can tell you what I'd do. You two can go ahead and do it, if you've got a death wish, but I won't. And threatening me is no good. If you don't kill me, they will."

"Who?" Orrin drew his rapier.

"The assassins." Dill shivered visibly at the word. "They were the ones who communicated with me, remember? And I'm pretty sure whoever it was that had hired them wouldn't dare withhold payment like they had with me. Those assassins are tightly knit and incredibly vengeful."

Orrin also shivered. "Oh, I've learnt that much personally." He let the brief memory drift off and composed himself again. "Well, go on - what's your plan?"

"I don't know much about them, but I do know that they openly refuse to take anonymous clients. This mystery figure of ours has to have shown his face. If anyone knows his identity, it's them. All you would have to do is ask." Dill guffawed, attempting to get more comfortable on the rough cobblestones. "A bit easier said, though. That lot do not let anyone but their own in on such information. They are sworn to keep their contacts and their details a secret."

Orrin took a few moments to ponder the situation. "And if we infiltrated their guild?"

"Not much of a guild to infiltrate." Dill looked warily about, as if expecting assassins to materialize from nowhere and slit his throat. "They're a tiny guild. No anonymity between the members. As for becoming a member of their order, well... Let's just say you don't come to them - they come to you. And before you ask, no, there is no finding them. They are found only when they want to be found."

Tim had been silent throughout the impromptu interrogation, but a look from Orrin revealed a comfortingly confident smile. "I think I might have a trick or two to help us along. One more thing." As the weasel tried to stand, Tim pushed him roughly back down. "We hear you've come into possession of a certain scent muter - a powerful one. Any chance you might sell us some?"

The weasel landed on his elbows, wincing with pain. "No. Don't get me wrong, you two are really fine gents. Truly. But even if I wanted to sell you any muter, I couldn't. Those assassins have placed an order so large that I was barely able to fill it. My supplier said he daren't make another move for at least a few months - maybe even an entire year - lest he get caught. You want muter, you'll have to go and speak with the assassins. But hey, you were planning to do so already, so that's two birds you can kill."

"Well, let us know if you do get any more." Tim released the weasel's arm and hopped to his feet. "Dill, our apologies for having to detain you. Once we discover this mystery person's identity, we may need your help."

The weasel stood up, gingerly massaging his arm and wincing with perhaps more effort than it merited. "If it means I get to give him a nice stab or two for not payin' me, count me in."

"Wonderful!" Tim gave the weasel a hearty smack to the injured arm. "You hang around the Veiled Menagerie, am I correct?"

Dill twitched at the name. "Aye."

"Then we'll find you when the time comes." Tim sheathed his dagger and smiled. "When push comes to stab, you'd better not be the coward I think you are. "Come on, Orrin." He turned heel and walked off in the direction of the Royal Palace, leaving behind a very conflicted weasel.

Orrin caught up quickly to the squirrel, but he refrained from asking questions until the two of them were well clear of the shabby neighborhood. "So, this idea of yours..."

"In good time." Tim winked. "Perhaps, I can get a little something in return." He turned his gaze openly to the raccoon's groin. "It's been a while."

Orrin giggled. "You want me to bribe you into talking?"

"Is it really a bribe if the other person enjoys it just as much as I do?" He returned Orrin's giggles, and soon the two of them were laughing like two cubs who'd just trapped a beetle.

The laughter eased their conversation to a close, and that silence lasted all the way to the palace.

Again, the two friends entered via the hedge maze and regrouped in Orrin's room.

The raccoon closed the door and turned to Tim. "So, you're really going to see us sleep together before you tell me the plan?"

"Well, maybe not before I tell you..." Tim took two seductive steps towards Orrin and ran a paw down the raccoon's taut stomach. "Although, I certainly wouldn't mind a little something afterward."

"Hey, not like I'd mind either." Orrin giggled and embraced the squirrel, slipping his paws down to Tim's rump, and giving it a good squeeze. "But tell me the plan first."

Tim nuzzled the raccoon's neck and inhaled with a blissful smile. "Well, Dill is more than likely correct - we'd probably never make it into the guild on our own. But what if one of the guild members ended up owing us a debt of gratitude?"

Everything clicked into place, and Orrin's eyes lit quickly up with new excitement. "The secretary's assassin. If we free him, we can probably persuade him to lead us to his master!"

"Exactly!" Tim kissed Orrin passionately on the muzzle, wrapping both paws around the raccoon's torso. "There, that ought to hold me over for a bit. Anyway, let's go see where Rowann went and put that rat." He skipped merrily towards the door.

Orrin recovered from Tim's sudden gesture of affection and hurried suit. He'd expected to be excited for a night of fun with the squirrel, but the kiss only served to remind him of his upcoming date with Trivus.

Tim halted his skipping only when he reached the door of his chambers, which he unlocked and pushed open. "After you, sir."

Orrin nodded and walked through, receiving yet another more than friendly touch on the rump. He chuckled and took a seat while Tim went off in search of his servant.

The squirrel returned deep in conversation with the wolf. "I know Finn hasn't approved this, but we just don't have the time for bureaucracy right now. This needs to get done tonight!"

Rowann opened his muzzle to reply, but Tim cut him off once more. "It's better to ask for forgiveness than permission."

"Only because you know Finn would not likely allow it. He was adamant on interrogating this assassin when I delivered him. Had him locked in a room with a strict policy of no visitors."

Tim nodded. "And we need to get him out before the interrogation. This will win us a lot of favor with his master. If I ask Finn for permission, I risk him saying no and making this plan impossible to execute. Please, Rowann. Just tell us where he is being kept. I'll take the rest on my own head." He managed such a pleading and honest pair of eyes that the wolf caved in with a sigh.

"Hotel Delate, room 406. They are keeping him drugged and docile. He will be moved for interrogation tomorrow. If you wish to take him before then, I should really suggest you hurry."

"Thank you, Rowann." Tim embraced his servant warmly. "You know I'm doing this for King and country. If we can find out the coward behind the Secretary's death, we'll be that much closer to preventing war. Finn will understand soon enough, and he'll thank me."

The wolf smiled. "I know, sir. I only worry about the potential repercussions to your career that frequently come from disobeying superiors."

Orrin stood and winked more roguishly than he thought himself capable of. "Well technically, we aren't disobeying, are we? There was no direct order against this plan of Tim's."

The squirrel guffawed. "That's the spirit, Orrin! Looks like some of my bad influence is rubbing off after all. Come on, let's put together a proper plan."

"No time for a proper plan." Orrin glanced outside. The sun was slowly setting behind the western palace wall, painting the world a beautiful shade of pink. For once, the sight did nothing to make him stare. The raccoon drew the curtain and checked his rapier. "Hotel Delate. Lead on, Tim."